


The Anger of a Gentle Man

by DreamingPagan



Series: Days of Ivory [5]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Divergent, Gen, In Which Admiral Hennessey is Done, In Which We Meet the Salt Factory Whence Sprang the Oversalted Ginger Muffin, In Which Woodes Rogers Does Not Know Who He's Pissed Off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan
Summary: Admiral Hennessey is not a happy man. Or one inclined to forgiveness when it comes to men such as Woodes Rogers trying to use him against James.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was going along, minding my own business, trying to get Chapter 13 of To the Upper Air written, when Hennessey turned up, full canister of salt in hand, and sort of sat down to have a long rant about Woodes Rogers. This was the result. Maybe now he can stop being salty for five seconds and help me write Chapter 13. Maybe. 
> 
> This is a kind of prequel to Cure for Sorrow and goes neatly with Through Hardships Unnumbered. As usual, comments are loved and adored, as are kudos. Also, it now occurs to me that if anyone hasn't seen my personal headcanon on Hennessey, this post might be useful in the reading of this fic:
> 
> http://flintsredhair.tumblr.com/post/151811259762/so-can-we-talk-about-admiral-hennessey-for-a

He retreats in the wake of James’ exile.

He is not reticent about the reason. It’s common knowledge in the Admiralty that he’s grieving the loss of his son. No one asks why when he eschews the scene of the crime and spends more time at his home. No one wonders why when he starts spending more time aboard ships, or when he abruptly agrees to take his squadron on what he had previously deemed an unnecessary extended patrol, coming back several thousand pounds the richer from Spanish prizes and more empty than he was when he began. There are no subdued whispers when he subsequently stops appearing in public at all save when actively summoned to Whitehall, where he becomes, suddenly, a thorn in the sides of those he once called ally.

Alfred Hamilton complains, of course. He rails, and threatens, and then dies, and Hennessey hears the rumors - rumors of a Captain Flint. He listens, eyes hard and jaw clenched, to the tales of his son’s reign of terror. He listens with barely veiled contempt to the surprise in the voices of those who caused this perversion of what is good and right to begin with, wondering what in the hell they thought was going to happen - what was going to come of their condemnation of a good man but blood and death. He listens while those who have no understanding of what’s been done curse James and his compatriots, and in the face of it all, Hennessey stands, unmoved and unmovable. He will not move against the pirates of Nassau. He will not hear of re-deploying ships badly needed for the war effort from the fleet. He will not aid his fellow admirals in prosecuting pirates, knowing that one day the one in the dock might be his own son. He will not be involved with any of it, or with England or its government. He turns up and makes his voice heard when required - and nothing more. He will not be a part of the vipers’ nest, not any longer. He has done what he had to for the preservation of the men under his command and the Empire he has served for so long, and now - 

Now, he thinks with more than a touch of self-loathing, he can see that he has really, truly managed to cock things up quite spectacularly. He should have kept his finger on the pulse of the country - should have watched things more carefully, but in his grief, he has let things slide, and the result is the young man sitting across from him who looks so like James and yet is absolutely nothing like the man he still considers his son. 

“Captain Rogers,” he says slowly, “let me see if I understand you properly. You are planning to retake the island of New Providence from its current denizens. You are mounting a full naval expedition for this purpose, and in order to speed things along… you wish to drag me, an old man, out of my retirement to presumably offer somewhat outdated advice and ruffle feathers among your noble allies?” He lets the question hang, watching the younger man, who watches him in return.

“Admiral Hennessey - I had understood you to be a career man. A rising star.” Rogers cocks his head. “And yet here you sit, apparently resting on your laurels, fully as keen a judge of strategy as you have ever been. I can only imagine you are bored beyond belief. Why would you not jump at a chance for one last, crowning glory to finish out your career?” 

Hennessey feels a jolt of anger run through him at the words. So that _is_ the game. He’s guessed at it already, but Rogers’ attempt at misdirection confirms it.

“They’re pretty words, boy, but they won’t fool me,” he spits, and sits up straight. “You know. You know who I am. You know who Captain Flint is. Were you perhaps hoping that I had not realized?” 

“I won’t deny the thought had crossed my mind,” Rogers admits, “but more than that I was hoping that given your history with the man -”

“That I would know his mind?” Hennessey asks. “That I would help you defeat him, perhaps? That I would be used against my own son - _again?”_ He gives a huff of disgust, looking at Rogers. “You’re a slippery devil, aren’t you? Coming here - here, to my home to try this.” 

“Admiral Hennessey - if you would lend me one moment of your time, you will see I am not here to deceive you,” Rogers insists, and Hennessey laughs mirthlessly. 

“I can’t decide whether you’re still trying to bullshit me, or doing it to yourself,” he answers. “Go on then. Talk. I’ve nothing else to do today, God knows.” 

Rogers winces, and Hennessey feels a zing of satisfaction travel through him. He’s managed to make the little shit uncomfortable. Good. 

“Admiral -”

“Get to the point,” he snaps. “I’ve had midshipmen with more guts than you. So have you, I’ll wager.” 

Rogers sits up, and Hennessey can see the moment that the polite facade disintegrates. He’s getting angry, finally, which means they’re getting somewhere. 

“I came here,” the younger man says in a voice that is starting to lose its polite, solicitous tone, “to see if you could be persuaded to talk some sense into Captain - into Mr. McGraw before it’s too late. I’ve been reliably assured that he can be reasoned with, but at present I am in no position to do the reasoning. You, on the other hand -”

Hennessey laughs again, this time incredulously. 

“I, on the other hand, was given no choice but to rip myself out of his good graces years ago. Good Lord, boy, I thought you _knew_ something!” 

“If I know so little, then for God’s sake, tell me what I do not know!” Rogers snaps. He leans forward, and Hennessey restrains the urge to bark at the man. This is not one of his sailors, being so impertinent. “I am scheduled to leave this city in a few months' time,” Rogers continues. “I have, so far, all the backing I shall need. I have supplies. I have soldiers, weapons, lawyers, merchants - what I do not have, sir, is knowledge! I am trying to turn New Providence into an island the Empire can be proud of - one where it can do business again, and I would like to do so with the _aid_ of your son, a man I have been assured is not only one of Nassau’s most respected Captains but one of the most feared men in the Spanish Main. I am trying, sir, to retake the island with a minimum of bloodshed, and to do so I require help, not this - obstructionism!”

He talks a good game, Hennessey will give him that. He’s breathing hard - for all the world acting as if he believes every single word of what he has just said, and yet Hennessey has never been more convinced that the man means nothing but trouble. He can see it in Rogers’ eyes. He can hear it in the edge of frustration in the man’s voice, now, before he has even begun his endeavor, and he can read between the lines to the real purpose of this expedition. This is not a noble attempt to bring order back to a lawless island - not a selfless venture aimed at saving the residents of Nassau. This is nothing more or less than an attempt to reassert the power of the Empire over men and women who have fled its confines for one reason or another - men and women he can increasingly sympathize with. He can see how Rogers will deteriorate, from leader of this expedition to tyrant as the place wears him down - and he knows how James will take it. He cannot - he _will not_ do that to the Boy again. That does not mean that he plans to refuse outright. No. Best to acquiesce now before Rogers perceives the need for the stick rather than the carrot. An enemy who thinks he’s won, after all, is one that will not watch Hennessey’s movements. Alfred Hamilton won the Game once, but Hennessey has lived longer than the miserable bastard ever did, and he’s learned more tricks. If this pup thinks he’s going to outsmart him and claim a second victory, then he really is a fool. 

“Captain Rogers,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “if your goals are truly as you have stated -” He hesitates. Sudden wholehearted agreement, would, after all, be suspicious. Rogers may be an ass, but he’s not an idiot. “Then you have my support,” he says finally, and sees the younger man’s mouth quirk upward. The hook is set - now all that’s left is to reel him in, but slowly, oh so very slowly that the poor stupid bugger doesn’t realize it until it’s far too late.

“Excellent,” says Hennessey’s unfortunate mark, and the Admiral grimaces to cover the grin that wants to spread over his face.

“ _If_ you prove your intentions to me,” he stipulates. “I would like to see James again and speak with him.” This last is entirely genuine, left there for Rogers to mull over. The man’s already discovered his weak spot - let him wonder at Hennessey’s blatant admission, let him start to wonder what it is Hennessey hasn’t told him. And while he’s laying traps -

“Captain Rogers,” he says, as the man starts to rise. Rogers raises both eyebrows and sits down again. “May one inquire how you are planning on funding this… venture?” 

“I won’t deny, I’ve run up quite the line of creditors,” Rogers answers. “Most of them are merchants, to whom I’ve promised a spot in the new commercial trade once the island’s been set to rights. There are others, of course - the Crown, various members of the House of Lords -”

“I assume that the new Lord Proprietor has given you a generous amount to start with,” Hennessey snorts, and Rogers frowns.

“Lord Hamilton? I was under the impression -” 

“Not him - the heir to the estate, Selkirk,” Hennessey says, and Rogers sits back. Interesting. So - the pup knows of Thomas Hamilton. _Let’s see,_ Hennessey thinks, _if we can’t arrange for him to aid the meddling little shit_. He’s had no political capital with the Hamiltons in the last ten years - no way of arranging for the man’s release, but this - this might just be his opening. 

“Selkirk,” Rogers says, mulling the notion over. “You think he would back us?” 

“I think he’d have to be a damn fool not to,” Hennessey says baldly. “A small investment to regain his income from the Bahamas? He’d snap at the chance.” Selkirk _is_ , of course, a damned fool. He does not mention this to Rogers, of course, but he’s watched the man go through money as though he were pouring water into a sieve. He’s a great one for investments, Charles Douglas Hamilton, First Earl of Selkirk, including ones that are doomed to failure, and this - this is just the kind of low-hanging, ripened fruit he’ll reach for without thought to the kind of man he’s paying for the privilege of sitting back on his arse. It will, of course, cost him - and Hennessey is waiting for that cost to drive him to do something unwise. Such as releasing his woebegone, too-long imprisoned nephew. If he is going to help James, then he intends to do the thing properly.

“It’s a good suggestion,” Rogers says. He looks up at Hennessey, a smile flitting across his face, and for the space of a split second, Hennessey almost feels sorry for what he’s about to do to the little shit. Almost. “I think we’ll work well together. Shall I call on you in a week’s time about arrangements?” 

“That would be acceptable,” Hennessey answers. “You will find me in my office. It’s been too long since I showed my face there.” 

“Back on the horse, then,” Rogers says. “Good day, Admiral.”

He stands again and leaves, and Hennessey waits until his footsteps have faded and he’s heard the sound of the butler seeing him through the door before he speaks again.

“Good riddance, you English bastard,” he murmurs. “And may the Devil himself strike me down if I raise my hand to help you.” 

He would swear by God, but then paybacks, as they say, are Hell.

**Author's Note:**

> The title, of course, comes from The Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss, which I confess I have not read but intend to because I'm seeing a lot of quotable quotes that seem to be indicative of half-decent writing if nothing else. As to the timeline - let's assume this is just around the time that Eleanor is first captured and brought to England, before her trial even begins, but while Rogers is starting to gather up resources for his planned retaking of the island and thus just about a year before Thomas and James find each other again. Let's further assume that this is before Miranda's death.


End file.
